The Magyar
By Torrent
She regained consciousness slowly, in stages. First there were sounds:
the clank of chains, the scrape of something heavy being dragged across a
concrete floor, the whir of an electric motor, voices.
No, actually just one voice - heavily accented, fruity and breathless.
Like Vincent Price doing an impression of Zsa Zsa Gabor, MA thought.
The speaker occasionally gave an order to some subordinate who remained
silent, but mostly he chattered about home decor.
"I mean, I told him in no uncertain terms," said the voice. "I said,
'Hector, you have got to ditch the gold lame . It clashes with absolutely
everything.' - No, Corgi, we're not going to use the clamps. I don't want to
damage her more than necessary. Now, where was I? Oh, yes, so I simply insisted
. . . ."
Ms. Americana became aware that she was tied to a sturdy,
straight-backed chair, with her wrists bound behind her. She made an enormous
effort and finally opened her eyes. What greeted her, at first, was a blurry
pattern of light and dark. The pattern changed as someone, or something, moved
in front of her, but she couldn't make out what it was.
She blinked several times, hoping to clear her vision.
"Look," someone whispered.
Then the first voice said, "Well, how nice, Miss American Pie has at
last joined us in mind, as well as body. The fluttering eyelids, the color
restored to those lovely cheeks. How are you feeling, my dear?"
"Where . . . ?" But MA couldn't finish the question. Her small reserve
of strength had quickly been exhausted, and she again closed her eyes.
"Where are you? Is that what you're wondering," said the voice. When MA
didn't respond, the voice became sharper. "Corgi, can you get her attention,
please?"
MA felt a stab of pain as someone twisted her left nipple. She opened
her eyes just in time to see a blur of motion, as that someone slapped her hard
on the side of the head.
"I know it's difficult," said the voice, which now came from farther
away, "but you really must try to pay attention and stay awake. We have an
awful lot of work to do."
Finally, MA got a glimpse of the speaker who went with the voice. It
was a tall, slender man in a black velvet leisure suit. He was arranging
cushions on a chaise lounge on the far side of the room. His back had been
toward her, but now he turned, and her blood froze. It was the Magyar.
"Look, Corgi. The shock of recognition - isn't it lovely? I believe she
is quite frightened. Are you frightened, my dear?"
When MA didn't answer, the Magyar made the slightest nod of his head,
and Corgi's fist slammed into her jaw.
"Not too hard, Corgi dearest. We want her to be able to cooperate."
It took MA half a minute to regain consciousness. When she raised her
head, she was looking into the bland, stupid face of a thickset man in a grey
T-shirt. So this was Corgi, she thought.
"She's awake again, sir," he said. Then he stepped aside, and the
Magyar was looking down at her.
"Are we ready to chat?" he asked brightly.
MA nodded.
The Magyar knelt before her, put his hand under her chin and lifted
her head.
"My, you're every bit as beautiful as advertised," he said.
"And you're every bit the Hungarian Queen I was told you were," she
said hoarsely. She waited for the blow to fall, but the Magyar's expression
didn't change. In fact, he smiled.
MA pressed on. "I know you're new to this country, asshole, but
that's no excuse for dressing like it's still 1977. And your teeth! Don't they
have orthodontists in Budapest?"
"Ah, yes. They told me you were a tough cookie."
"Tough cookie?" said MA. "Who writes your dialogue? That went out in the
'40s."
The Magyar rose and turned to Corgi. "See. Exactly the response one
would expect from a tough cookie. Here she is, barely begun to recover from a
powerful neurotoxin that will leave her weak for days, and with her hands tied
behind her. But does she grovel and plead for mercy? No, she insults my teeth,
my clothes, my idiomatic English. And her expression of bored insolence! I just
love that in a woman. It means she's too stupid to know she's in danger."
Actually, MA was well aware of how much danger she was in. But
wisecracking seemed a better course than begging. Everything she had learned
about the Magyar from Interpol suggested that he killed mostly out of boredom.
She didn't intend to let him get bored.
The Magyar walked over to the chaise lounge and picked up what looked
like a cell phone. "Spaniel, get the bitches and bring them down here. I'm going
to get some lunch and I want all of you to work on her a while. Nothing too
heavy. And be sure to tape it. I want a record of the proceedings to send to her
handlers."
# # #
The workout was brief but brutal. MA was untied, yanked upright and
dragged across the room, past a variety of torture implements and devices, to a
full-length mirror. She looked at herself and had to fight back tears. She was
naked except for her red boots. Her face was puffy from repeated blows. Her
power belt was gone. Her big, beautiful breasts were exposed - and red from what
appeared to be bite marks. Her vagina hurt, and she assumed she had been raped
more than once.
Spaniel, a slim young man with a mop of auburn hair, stood next to the
mirror, videotaping her as she looked at her reflection. Corgi held one of her
arms. A big, tough-looking woman in a black leather jerkin and black jeans held
her other. In the mirror, MA could see two other women, also dressed in black,
behind her.
"Enough of this narcissistic bullshit," said one of them. "Let's do it."
Corgi spun her around, and the woman hit her hard in the stomach. MA
bent over, retching.
"Tough cookie tosses cookies," said Corgi, grinning.
A knee slammed into MA's face. It straightened her up for half a second,
then her knees buckled. Corgi caught her from behind, his big hands reaching
around and squeezing her tits.
The Magyar's three "bitches" were relentless. Several times, Corgi had
to tell them to back off.
"Why," asked Wolfhound, the biggest of the bunch. "She's supposed to be
some kind of fuckin' super heroine. We've been beating the shit out of her, and
she still looks fresh as a daisy. I say, anything goes."
With that she kicked MA in the crotch so hard that her boot disappeared
up to the instep.
"Yeah," said Corgi, "but it ain't what you say that goes. The boss says
don't hurt her too bad."
"Wait," said Spaniel. "Let me get a close-up of this." He moved the
camera to within inches of MA's crotch as Wolfhound shook and twisted her boot,
pulled it part-way out, then shoved it in again.
"She's drooling," Bulldog said with a laugh. Spaniel pointed the camera
at MA's face, and sure enough a string of spittle hung from her parted lips.
"I think she likes you, Wolfie," said Corgi.
"I bet she'll like this even better," said Mastiff. She had strapped on
a foot-long studded copper dildo.
"Great," said Wolfhound. "I've already got her pussy lathered up."
"Pussy, hell," said Mastiff. "Get her face down and put that cushion
under her. I'm going to butt-fuck her until her ass is as wide as Mammoth Cave."
"I don't think that's a good idea," objected Corgi. But he didn't
interfere as the others pulled MA's legs apart and Mastiff plunged the giant
dildo into her anus. MA, who had been only semi-conscious, awoke with a scream.
Mastiff was pumping vigorously. MA struggled to free herself and nearly
succeeded, despite the lopsided odds and the lingering effects of the drug. But
at last she went limp, and Mastiff continued to ream her until Corgi pulled her
away.
# # #
"Not hungry?" said the Magyar. "You really should eat. You need to build
up your strength."
"You want me to be strong? Give me back my belt."
The Magyar laughed. They were sitting at a wicker table on a terrace
overlooking his Hounds County estate. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows
across the lawn that led down to the formal garden.
"No, I want you to be strong enough to cooperate with us, not to . . .
." Here he hesitated and looked over at Spaniel, who stood a few feet away,
videocam still at the ready.
"Kick ass," said Spaniel.
"Right. We don't want you so strong that you can 'kick ass.'"
"So you're a coward, as well as a sadist," said MA.
"A coward? But of course. Only a fool puts himself needlessly in harm's
way. I am very careful about my physical safety. But a sadist - no, I don't
think so."
"No?" said MA with a grim smile. "You could have fooled me. I've seen
pictures of the girls you've worked on. In some cases, they were unrecognizable.
And your goons did a pretty good job on me today."
"Goons? I have no goons. The men and women who 'kicked ass' today are my
associates. Like most American employers these days, I have no employees or
servants. Or goons. We are all associates - are we not, Spaniel?"
"Absolutely, sir," answered Spaniel.
"And as for being a sadist, I believe a sadist is someone who gets
sexual pleasure from hurting others. But my pleasure, I assure you, is purely
aesthetic. You may be sexually appealing to most men, but to me you are merely a
promising subject for experiments in cruelty."
MA decided to change the subject. "How come all your 'associates' have
dogs' names?"
"No, not dog names - names of canine breeds," the Magyar corrected her.
"I don't know why. Perhaps I am sentimental. I love dogs very much. And this is,
after all, Hounds County."
"And you are, after all, such a bitch," MA added.
The Magyar evidently had grown tired of her cockiness. He nodded, and MA
suddenly felt something hard and heavy hit the back of her head. She slumped
forward, and her face landed in the vichyssoise.
"Get her out before she drowns," the Magyar said grumpily. "Then put her
in the kennel. A night with real dogs might do her some good."
"Yes, sir," said Corgi. "But if I might make a suggestion, shouldn't I
first remove the pit bulls? I mean, you said you didn't want any unnecessary
damage."
"Yes, of course. You're quite right. No pit bulls. And no Dobermans. But
I definitely want the Pyrenees and the two male St. Bernards in with her. They
have such deliciously big dicks. And be sure to give our princess a squirt of
Heat before you lock her up."
# # #
Corgi and Mastiff laid MA facedown in the little courtyard at the center
of the kennel. Mastiff slipped a burlap sack filled with dog biscuits under MA's
pelvis, so her pussy would be more accessible. Then Corgi sprayed her behind and
crotch with the aerosol sex stimulant that the Magyar's staff veterinarian had
concocted.
"Okay, boys, come and get it," Mastiff yelled as she opened the cages of
the Pyrenees and the St. Bernards. They came out full of eager playfulness,
ready for a romp on the grounds. But when they got a whiff of Heat, their
demeanor changed instantly.
The big Pyrenees got to her first. He sniffed her pussy, then licked it
with his enormous tongue. The St. Bernards crowded in, but the Pyrenees wasn't
about to let them in on the fun. He snarled and snapped first at one, then at
the other. And even while doing so, he managed to get his prick into MA's
already slick pussy.
It was all over in seconds. The Pyrenees withdrew his dripping cock and
walked away, no longer aroused or even interested.
One St. Bernard mounted MA, and the other stood with his head hanging
inches from hers. When MA moaned and started to squirm, he clamped his huge jaws
around her neck and squeezed. She struggled harder, and he increased the
pressure on her neck. At last, she went limp again.
Spaniel, perched on a wall overlooking the courtyard, got it all on
tape. The highlight came when the first St. Bernard had shot his wad and
withdrawn, and MA suddenly turned over onto her back and tried to sit up. The
second St. Bernard lunged at her, grabbed her by the throat and shook her like
a rag doll until she lost consciousness. Then he neatly spread her legs with
his muzzle and raped her while looking down into her half-closed eyes.
II "Until now," said the Magyar, "you have suffered only the crudest forms of torture and humiliation. I am not apologizing for my associates. It's just that they have limited imaginations." They were back in the room with the concrete floor and the torture devices. The Magyar sat on the chaise lounge. MA stood before him, head bowed. She now wore, in addition to her boots, a silver choke collar, to which was attached a long leash. "I must admit, though, that the night with the canines was my idea," the Magyar said, gently jostling the leash. "It was intended to teach you a little lesson in humility. Were you humiliated, being fucked by dogs?" The tears that streamed from her downturned eyes answered his question. "Excellent. Now, we can mix some pleasure with the pain. This is what I am especially good at." He rose and led her to a large X-shaped wooden frame that was mounted on a low platform and tilted back at a slight angle. "Step up, and lean back against the frame," he said. She did as he ordered. "Now, raise your arms and Corgi and Spaniel will secure your wrists." Quickly, MA found herself shackled to the frame. Her legs were spread, her pussy, belly and breasts defenseless against whatever the Magyar had in mind. He opened a chest and took out a thick silver wand with a spherical knob on one end. He touched the knob lightly several times, removing his fingers quickly after each touch. "Do you know what this is?" he asked. "No, of course you don't," he continued, before she could try to answer. "I call this my swizzle stick. When I apply this to your skin, it will stir up a cocktail of indescribable sensations. I am quite certain you will enjoy it - at first." He brushed the end of the wand against the outside of MA's leg. It tingled in a way she had never felt before. He make a circular motion in the air, then tapped the knob against her right nipple. She shivered with pleasure and fear. He stepped onto the platform and brushed his lips against hers. She tried to turn her head away, then, against her will, she turned her face upward for more. "Naughty, naughty," he said teasingly. He stepped back and rubbed the knob across her mouth. She turned her head to the side, trying to escape it, but he kept pressing it against her lips. The sensation was driving her crazy. She shook her head violently from side to side, but the tingling knob was always there. At last, she parted her lips and let it into her mouth. "Suck it," the Magyar said in a silky voice. She sucked it. She was breathing heavily, and her eyes were closed. He flipped a switch at the base of the handle, and her head snapped back. "You see, my lovely little slut, how close pleasure is to pain. Just a few more amperes, and - poof! - your budding orgasm becomes a spasm of agony." He flipped the switch and lowered the power, then he drew the knob down her throat. He circled one breast, then the other, and slid it down to her navel. "And what is this?" he whispered. "A mini pussy, no?" He pressed the knob into her navel and twisted it. MA moaned with ecstasy and her pelvis began gyrating. She could feel her pussy getting wet. He leaned close to her, tilted his head, bit hard into her exposed throat. She shivered again, torn between the pleasure of the electric knob in her navel and the pain of his grip on her throat. He released her and looked into her eyes. "There is a legend in my family that my great-great-great grandfather was a vampire," he whispered. "Is that not a quaint notion?" There was blood on his teeth, and on MA's throat. "Please," she said in a scarcely audible voice. "Please," he said. "Please what, my child? Please bite me again? Please push this magic wand so far into my belly that it comes out my back? Or perhaps this!" He lowered the wand between her legs, then shoved it deep into her pussy. "Oh, God! Oh, God!" she shrieked. He was manipulating the wand inside her, and the surge of power was at full strength. Her body banged against the frame, as she tried to escape the electric fury. Then, after one last, violent tremor, her body went limp and her head fell forward onto her chest. The Magyar removed the wand, turned off the power, then lightly licked the knob. "The juices of Paradise," he said. He slipped the wand into his belt, then raised MA's head. So lovely, he thought - even in death. He turned abruptly and shouted, "Get her down, and take her body to the lab. Toynbee is curious about her, and I promised he could do whatever experiments he liked." "Begging your pardon, sir," said Corgi. "Can we have a bit of fun with her before she goes to the lab?" The Magyar frowned. "Her beauty is undeniable, but I really don't understand what it is that makes her so irresistible to some men." "And some women," added Mastiff, who had joined them. "Okay, go ahead," said the Magyar. "Fuck her all you want. Bend her, fold her, spindle her. Just get her to Dr. Toynbee in one piece and fresh enough to be usable." He looked at his watch. "I'll give you 45 minutes." # # # Corgi carried MA over his shoulder. They had tried to clean her up, but cum still seeped from her pussy and made her legs sticky. Mastiff knocked at the door, and Toynbee's assistant, Spencer, opened it. "We've got the super cunt for Toynbee," she said. Spencer, a pimply young man with thick glasses, seemed annoyed. "We're in the middle of an experiment," he said irritably. "The boss said to get her to Toynbee right away," said Corgi. Spencer stepped around Corgi and lifted MA's head. "She looks dead," he said. "She is dead," said Corgi. "The boss said that wouldn't make any difference." "Yes, but she's already getting cold," Spencer said. "You should've come sooner." "Oh, we came soon enough - and often enough," Corgi said, with a knowing look at Mastiff. They laid MA on her back on a metal examining table. "Good looking, ain't she?" said Corgi. "I've seen better," Spencer snapped. "Yeah, in your dreams," said Mastiff. "You want us to help rip her open?" asked Corgi. "No, thank you very much. We don't 'rip open' our subjects," said Spencer in a tone of growing exasperation. "When we make incisions, they are based on a thorough knowledge of anatomy." "So you think we don't know about bodies?" Corgi shot back. Just then a door opened and Toynbee joined them. He was an owlish man of 70 with tufts of white hair above each ear and a perpetual squint. "Hullo, Dr. Toynbee," Corgi said respectfully. "We're just here to deliver the goods, so to speak." "Yes, yes, well now they're delivered and you can be on your way," said Toynbee. "Spencer, get me a scalpel and a bone saw - the small one." "Oh, a saw," said Mastiff. "Awesome. I've never seen anyone sawed on before." "And you're not going to see one today," Toynbee said sharply. "Now, get out, both of you. We've got work to do." He hurried them out and slammed the door after them. He paused to catch his breath, then smiled slyly. "Forget the saw, Spencer," he said. "That was just for their entertainment." "So we're not going to dissect her," Spencer said. He sounded disappointed. "Oh, yes, we'll cut her up eventually. But why waste the few hours we have left before rigor mortis sets in? She is so lovely. And it appears from the stickiness of her thighs that our friends have taken full advantage of her defenselessness." "Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?" "Yes, of course. How can you call yourself a scientist if you're not willing to plumb the depths of human behavior, as well as scale the heights?" So Toynbee and Spencer took turns making love to MA's lifeless body. First, they flipped her face down on the examining table and fucked her from behind. Then, they hung her by her wrists to a hook in the ceiling and fucked her simultaneously, front and back, as she dangled. Finally, they spread her out on her back on the floor and fucked her in the Missionary Position. "Never have I so enjoyed a sexual escapade," sighed Toynbee as he sat, exhausted, next to her body. "Nor I," said Spencer, who sat on the other side of her. "Though truth be told, I never had a sexual escapade before today." "Well, you started with the best. Ms. Americana's body is a work of art," said Toynbee. "But it's time we got on with our work. She won't last forever." "And what, if you don't mind my asking, is our work?" asked Spencer. "I mean, what are we looking for?" "Why, the secret of her power, of course. We want to find out why she was able, for so long, to defy the odds - to survive terrible beatings, brutal rapes, even bullets fired at close range." Spencer looked puzzled. "But we know her secret," he said. "It's in her belt, not in her body. Once the Magyar was able to drug her with synthetic curare and remove her belt, she was just another overly athletic bimbo. That's why we're sitting next to her dead body, instead of being sprawled out at her feet after being beaten unconscious." "The belt!" Toynbee said, in a tone of disbelief. "But I thought it was just a comic book gimmick. Whoever heard of such a thing in the real world? Well, where is this belt? It's that, we should be dissecting, not her." They got to their feet, with great difficulty in the case of Toynbee, and set out to find the belt - leaving MA spread-eagle on the lab floor. [To be continued.]
III
At half past seven, a full four hours after the Magyar had concluded
that MA was dead and had consigned her body to rape and experimentation, Spencer
and Toynbee stood at the door to the lab, while Toynbee fumbled with the key.
They had found the belt in a storeroom next to the torture chamber and had taken
it without asking anyone's permission. They planned to disassemble it and find
out its secrets.
"The Magyar won't like this," Toynbee whispered, as Spencer slipped the
belt from under his lab coat.
"The Magyar need never know," Spencer replied. "Besides, if we find
something useful, he'll probably give us a bonus."
They entered the lab like schoolboys up to a bit of mischief. MA's body
lay peacefully in the middle of the floor.
"Well, which should we take apart first - the belt or her?" Spencer
asked jauntily. This adventure had boosted his spirits.
"I'm not sure," said Toynbee. "I guess the belt can wait. She can't -
unless we freeze her."
Spencer looked down at MA. "Here's another idea," he said. "This belt
protected Ms. Americana when she was alive. What would it do now that she's
dead?"
"Dangerous, Spencer. Very dangerous."
"Why? You're a scientist. You know the dead do not rise."
Toynbee remained doubtful. "If you're convinced the belt cannot revive
her, why put it on her? What's the point?"
"The point, Dr. Toynbee, is to see if the belt protects her body even in
death. To see whether or not it will allow us to - in the words of the
incomparable Corgi - 'rip her open.'"
"Yes. Yes, I see. A very different matter," said Toynbee. "So you don't
think she'll . . . ."
"Be restored to life and come after us like the unkillable villain in a
slasher movie? Of course not."
"Well, then, perhaps we should give it a try. If the belt blocks us from
doing our work, we can always take it off."
"And disassemble it - and her," added Spencer triumphantly. It was the
first time he had ever taken control of an experiment in the four years he had
worked for Toynbee. He felt elated and powerful.
They lifted MA back onto the examining table and laid her face down.
Then Spencer raised her midsection while Toynbee slipped the belt under her.
"There doesn't seem to be a conventional buckle," the older man muttered. He
held the two ends of the belt a few inches apart, just above the small of her
back.
"You're right," said Spencer. "Well, it probably works by magnetism.
When the two ends get close enough, they lock into place . . . . like this." He
reached over and pulled Toynbee's hands together.
There was a sudden snap, and the belt was all in one piece, as if it had
never left its owner's body.
"Well," said Spencer, "that takes care of that." He sounded nonchalant,
but inside he was nervous.
Toynbee was nervous, too. "So, what do we do now, my young Dr.
Frankenstein?"
"We test its protective powers." Spencer opened a drawer and took out a
surgical knife with a gleaming, five-and-a-half-inch blade. He held it just
above her left buttock, then pushed. The blade indented her flesh but didn't
enter it. He pushed harder. Still no incision. He raised the knife and brought
it down with all his strength.
Still, no broken skin. Not a drop of blood.
"Mein Gott," said Toynbee.
MA's body jerked. It was a small movement, but both men saw it.
"Mein Gott," Toynbee repeated.
Now MA began shaking violently.
"Get the belt off of her," Spencer yelled. Toynbee reached for the belt,
but his hands ran into a jolt of electricity that sent him reeling backwards.
Spencer slashed desperately at MA with the knife. The blade broke off,
and he found himself holding only the stainless steel handle.
MA's tremors had pushed her to the edge of the table. Suddenly she fell
off and landed with a thud on the floor.
They looked down at her. Her eyes were open, and she looked up.
Without a word of consultation, the scientists bolted for the door.
Spencer was quicker and got through first. Toynbee was only a half second
behind, but when he stepped through the doorway, he staggered and clutched his
chest. His last coherent thought consisted of a single word: thrombosis.
He fell dead even as MA was rising unsteadily to her feet. She had no
idea where she was. She remembered nothing since the Magyar had showed her a
silvery wand in the torture chamber.
She stepped over Toynbee's body and looked around the hallway. There was
an elevator door few feet from her. Further down the hall was an illuminated
exit sign.
Must be a stairway, she thought. Safer than the elevator. They'll
probably come by elevator.
She ran to the exit, opened the door carefully and looked into the
stairwell. There was a single flight of stairs going up, probably to the roof.
She looked down. It appeared she was on the top floor of a three or four-story
building. A door opened below and she heard excited voices.
Going down was out of the question. She raced up the stairs and came to
a metal trap door. She tried the handle. It was locked. She closed her eyes,
mustered all her strength and pushed up as hard as she could. Her feet slipped
and she bounced back down the stairs to the landing where she had started.
"I hear her," someone yelled below. "She's trying to get out on the
roof."
There was a loud bang, and a bullet ricocheted off a railing just inches
from her.
The lab. Maybe there was a window or a fire escape. Two more shots rang
out. A bullet grazed her belt and veered off into the darkness.
She rolled into the hallway, jumped up and headed for the lab. Another
shot rang out, and the slug hit her in the middle of the back. It knocked the
breath out of her, and she fell to her hands and knees.
When she tried to get back up, Mastiff clubbed her with the butt of an
AR-15. She sank back to the floor.
"Looks like Toynbee bought the farm," said Wolfhound, breathing heavily
after rushing up the stairs.
"Just as well," said Mastiff. "Boss would've killed him. I can't wait to
see what he does to this slut." She slipped her boot under MA's belly and
flipped her over.
"She ain't that good-looking," said Wolfhound. "You think she's
good-looking?"
"I think she's the most beautiful woman I ever saw," answered Mastiff.
"And I hate her fucking guts."
IV "The question Spencer raises is an interesting one," the Magyar said. He was standing on the back steps of his manor house, and he spoke loudly to his security staff, who had gathered in the cobbled courtyard between the house and his seven-car garage. "Ms. Americana's magic belt restored her to life, but it did not save her from being recaptured. Why? And why was Mastiff able to knock her unconscious? It is true she was shot in the back and suffered no major injury, but in days gone by the belt would have protected her even from the force of impact. A bullet would never have touched her." He paused and looked over at Spencer, who sat tied in a chair, with Corgi guarding him. Spencer wore the resigned expression of a condemned man. "What do you think, Dr. Spencer? You raised these questions - no doubt to keep yourself alive a little longer. But they are good questions. You are a scientist. What's your guess?" "I don't know," Spencer said glumly. "Speak up, we can't hear you," the Magyar shouted. "I don't know," Spencer said, loudly this time. "I don't think it was because of any defect in the belt. This is only conjecture, but I think something happened inside Ms. Americana." "Inside her? Indeed it did," the Magyar roared maniacally. "Deep, deep inside her. What happened is that Miss American Pie got thoroughly fucked by my swizzle stick and nearly died with happiness. In fact, she did die. Am I not correct, Spencer?" "Yes. She appeared to be clinically dead when she was delivered to the lab." "And she was dead when you and Toynbee fucked her, was she not?" yelled the Magyar. There was scattered laughter in the crowd. "Yes, sir, she was dead when we . . . ." His voice trailed off. "When you what?" demanded the Magyar. "When we fucked her," Spencer screamed. Then he burst into tears. "Have no fear, Spencer. No will fuck you when you're dead. You have my word on that." More laughter from the crowd. "But now, let's get a fresh look at the young lady who has caused us so much trouble." He gestured, and Mastiff and Wolfhound led MA out the back door and onto the steps. MA again wore the choke collar - but the belt was gone. So was her cockiness. Her head was bowed, and her dark hair covered her eyes. The Magyar grabbed a handful of that hair and yanked it so that the crowd could see her tear-stained face. "Still beautiful, isn't she?" he yelled. "And look at these boobs." He grabbed her breasts with both hands, digging his polished fingernails into her flesh. She flinched but didn't utter a sound. "Yes, she is still quite a woman," he said. "What she is not, however, is a superheroine. Even with her belt, she could not escape us. She has been broken. I broke her. My magic wand proved more powerful than her magic belt." He stood in front of her. She looked down, evading his eyes. "Look at me," he said in a low voice. "Look into my eyes, slut." She raised her eyes. There was a flash of defiance, but it died in an instant. She was a defeated woman. "What must I do with you?" he asked. She didn't answer. He nodded to Mastiff, who jabbed a wooden dowel into her rectum. MA jumped and gasped. "He asked you a question, slut," hissed Mastiff. "I'm sorry," MA sobbed. "I didn't hear it." The Magyar repeated slowly, "What must I do with you?" Mastiff slid the dowel back and forth across MA's behind, ready to goose her again. "Let me go - please," MA said in a small, desperate voice. "You've already destroyed me. Please, spare my life." The Magyar smiled, turned to his "associates" and spread his arms, as if offering a blessing. "She says she wants to live," he cried out. "She says I shouldn't snuff her. What do you say, sisters and brothers?" "Kill her," they roared in unison. The Magyar stepped aside, giving the crowd a full view of MA. At that instant, Mastiff again jammed the dowel deep into her ass. MA rose on her toes, her face twisted in pain. Whatever else it might be, this death would not be dignified.
V They did not feed her for four days. She grew weaker and weaker. To make matters worse, they put a diuretic in her drinking water. She constantly had to pee and her weight plunged from her usual 140 pounds to under 125. The Magyar had decided that he would kill her barehanded, and he wanted to make sure she had no fight left in her when the time came. Mastiff and Wolfhound contributed to the effort by roughing her up every few hours, under Corgi's supervision. "She's a lot weaker than she was, boss," Corgi said after the third day. "She could barely stand up when they went at her today." "Good," said the Magyar. "I want to be able to disable her quickly. But as for the killing, I think that should be done slowly, don't you?" Corgi squirmed uncomfortably. "Not really, boss," he said. "I mean, my rule is that you get it over fast, so there's less time for surprises." "Hmmm, I see your point," said the Magyar. "But I do want to give my fans a bit of a show." # # # Showtime came on a Friday. MA had been allowed to sleep no more than ten or fifteen minutes at a stretch the night before. The three bitches - Mastiff, Wolfhound and Bulldog - took turns keeping her awake. Once, when the clanging of a big cowbell next to her ear didn't work, Bulldog dumped a pitcher of ice water on her. Mastiff used an electric cattle prod. Applied to MA's butt hole just as she was falling asleep, it produced splendid results. At noon, Corgi and Mastiff dragged the exhausted former superheroine into the courtyard. "You gotta stand," Corgi whispered. "If you don't stand, he'll be pissed and stomp you to death." He was beginning to feel sorry for her. With enormous effort, MA stood on her own. She teetered in one direction, then another, but she stood. The Magyar came out in a dark blue silk dressing gown and blew kisses to his "fans" - the 45 or so people who worked on his estate and provided muscle for his businesses. He removed the dressing gown with a flourish and tossed it to his valet. He wore white satin boxing trunks and fawn colored boxing gloves. He bounced up and down in his sneakers. He had boxed at the lyceum in Budapest as a youth, and he prided himself on his skills. Corgi pushed MA forward. She and the Magyar met in the middle of a square bordered by yellow ribbon. Ripon, the head gardener, was the referee. "No rules," he said. "Just a simple fight to the death. Shake hands and may the best man win." He winked at the Magyar. Corgi grabbed MA's elbow and tried to get her to extend her hand, but the Magyar had decided to dispense with this formality. He hit her in the face with a left. As MA stumbled backwards and Corgi scurried out of the ring, the Magyar signaled to a young man on a platform full of sound equipment. Suddenly, "Dancing Queen" blasted from two huge speakers, and the criminal mastermind began prancing to the disco beat. He threw jabs in time with the music. They weren't very forceful, but they kept MA confused and off-balance. Desperate, she tried to take the offensive, swinging wildly and missing. This left her open to a savage punch to her side, just below her rib cage. She groaned and sank to her knees. "Get up, darling," Magyar taunted. "Get up. It takes two kitties to have a catfight." MA got back on her feet just in time to take a hard punch to her right breast. She wrapped her arms around her chest, bent over and sobbed. "Oh, the poor wittle tittie's hurt," said Magyar. He kicked her in the behind to make her stand up, then danced around her and threw three quick jabs at her head. She raised her arms to protect her face, but that just left her belly defenseless. The Magyar took full advantage, slamming his fist into her gut. She doubled up and again fell to her knees. "Praying, darling?" asked the Magyar. Then he hit her with a karate chop to the back of her neck. Her head snapped back, and she fell face forward onto the cobblestones. Ripon didn't bother to start counting. It was clear she wouldn't be getting up. Spaniel, who had been taping the proceedings from a step ladder at the back of the crowd, now came forward, pushing through the crowd with his camera. Magyar saw him and started dancing lasciviously. He removed his gloves and tossed them into the crowd. Then he reached into the waist band of his trunks and slowly pulled out a black silk stocking. "Frivolous luxury or implement of death?" he purred to the camera. "You decide." He caressed his body with the stocking, stuffed it back into his trunks to rub his crotch, then pulled it out again. He was having a glorious time, and the crowd was clapping to the music. Finally, the song came to an end. The Magyar glanced at the sound stage and drew a forefinger across his throat. It was the signal for a change of music. What came next was a heavy metal cacophony appropriate for a concert in Hell - or a public execution. The Magyar stood over MA's prone body, bumping and grinding obscenely. Then he slowly knelt, straddling her. Spaniel knelt, too. The camera lens was only inches from her face. Blood flowed from her nose and mouth. "Goodnight, sweet princess," the Magyar said, leaning down and slipping the stocking around her neck. Slowly, dramatically, he tightened the noose. "This is awesome," said Spaniel. "How does she look?" asked the Magyar. "Like a dying whore. Pull tighter." The Magyar jerked her head back and pulled with all his strength. The music grew louder, and MA's body began shaking violently. "The death tremor," the Magyar cried. "I love this part!" Suddenly, above the jangle emitted by the speakers came a resounding "No!" The voice had boomed out just behind the Magyar. When he turned to see who it was, a big fist smashed into his face. It was Corgi who had thrown the punch, and he followed up by kicking the Magyar in the balls. When Spaniel tried to intervene, Corgi grabbed the camera and slammed it down on his head. Spaniel and camcorder fell together on top of the Magyar. Corgi pulled a pistol out of his belt and turned slowly, facing the crowd. "Okay, who's with me?" he yelled. A murmur ran through the group, but no one volunteered. "You'll pay for this," Bulldog hissed. "You all saw what happened," Corgi shouted. "You saw how this poor bitch never had a chance. The Magyar gave himself every advantage. Look, I like seeing beautiful women roughed up as much as the next thug, but there's a limit." Two members of the security team stepped forward and joined Corgi. "We're with you," one said. "Me, too," said a third, drawing his pistol and scanning the crowd as he backed toward them. He needn't have worried. No one was going to fight for the Magyar. Even the bitches knew the game was up. Mastiff wept quietly, profoundly disappointed at the outcome. Wolfie tried to give the fallen MA one last kick, but Corgi shoved her away. He knelt and rolled MA onto her back. Her face was purple, and her eyes had rolled back. But when he loosened the stocking from her neck, he felt a pulse. She had made it - against all odds.
VI At Delta-City Clinic, MA went through a battery of physical and psychological tests. She passed them all - except one. Dr. Rita Markham, the clinic's leading psychologist, was worried about possible personality changes due to MA's brush with death. So she had given the superheroine a standard 110-question examination. When she went over the results, she was profoundly shaken. "The Magyar and his goons did terrible things to her," she explained to a roomful of physicians at the clinic. "Of course, this wasn't the first time Ms. Americana has been subjected to incredibly brutal treatment. In the past, she has recovered fully in every way - physically, emotionally and, if I may be permitted to use a word some of you may frown on, spiritually." There was scattered muttering and clearing of throats. "But this time, something went very wrong. Ms. Americana is not what she was before. The Baleful-McGregor test clearly shows that her level of confidence, once almost off the charts, has fallen sharply. Her self-image has suffered far more than her body. And it appears that her psycho-sexual profile has undergone a dramatic change." "In what way?" asked Dr. Bohner, the clinic director. "In a very dangerous way for a superheroine," said Dr. Markham. "She has tasted sexual submission and found it intensely pleasurable. From now on, any time she is under stress, she will be in danger of a relapse." "How fascinating," said Bohner. "I recommend she be given no assignments outside of headquarters for at least six months," said Markham. "At that time, she should come in for more tests." After the conference ended, Bohner went into his office. He had left the TV on, with the sound muted, and when he looked at the screen he was surprised to see Ms. Americana. She was with the district attorney and a beefy looking young man in a T-shirt, at a press conference at police headquarters. MA's belt and mask had been restored, but not her confidence. One look told him that. He turned up the volume. The young man in the T-shirt, who had the improbable name of Corgi, was stealing the show. He told how he had been a henchman of the Magyar but had seen the error of his ways. Torturing the defenseless superheroine "just wasn't right," he said, then he explained how he rescued her from certain death. While he spoke, MA looked down at her hands and said nothing. A buzzer rang. Bohner muted the TV as his secretary told him he had a call from Police Commissioner Stepford. "Put him through," he said. "Donald, I was expecting you to call. Yes, I was just watching the press conference. Our little heroine doesn't look so cocky anymore, does she?" He was silent for a while, then said, "Listen, Donald, we've had an interesting session here today. It seems the mighty Ms. A has become some kind of sexual pervert." He paused. "No, she's not going to run around molesting children in the park. In fact, she's not likely to be the sexual aggressor at all. More likely, she could end up the victim - a very willing victim, I might add." As he listened to Stepford's speculation on what this might mean for crime-fighting in Delta-City, Bohner opened the drawer of his desk and took out the hand-carved wooden case a police detective had given him after the raid on the Magyar's compound. "No, I have no idea how this happened, and I don't think Markham does, either," he said. He lifted the lid of the box and removed the silver wand. "So I'd like an opportunity to talk with the Magyar. I wouldn't interfere with your investigation or the DA's. This is purely in the interest of science. The bastard is in such deep shit, there's a chance he might talk freely to me in the hope of getting a break." He paused again, then said, "Yes, I'll let you know if there are any new developments at our end." He hung up and turned his full attention to the device. Ingenious, he thought. He flipped a switch at the base of the handle, then lightly touched the knob at the other end. There was a slight spark, and he quickly withdrew his finger. He had lied when he told Stepford he had no idea what had caused the psychological change in Ms. Americana. In fact, he had a very good hunch what had given her such a soul-damaging thrill. "And the time will come when I can test it on the lovely Ms. Arrogance," he said to himself. "Yes, the time will come soon enough - and when it does, I'm not sure which of us will enjoy it most." THE END
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